


Gumnut's Thunderbirds Ficlet Collection

by Gumnut



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2019-09-28 12:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut
Summary: A collection of ficlets not long enough to warrant their own story space. Some may contain spoilers for any season.





	1. Hole in the Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random fic from a picture prompt on Tumblr. Goes nowhere.

“I bet Virgil could do it.”

“Yeah, right. And damage those precious hands of his?”

“He could do it.”

“Do what?”

Red flannel entered the comms room and the two youngest brothers jumped.

“Nothing.” Alan never really was good at prevaricating.

And Virgil had weaponised eyebrows that could have you admitting to being on the green knoll.

“Dare ya, Virg.” Gordon was never afraid to grab the elephant in the room by the throat.

Experienced suspicion was the next expression to pass over his brother’s face. “To do what?”

“Crack a nut…with your fist.”

“And why exactly would I want to do that?”

“Because I said you could do it, and Alan reckons you’d be too scared.”

Those eyeball beams raked over his youngest brother. “Too scared?”

Alan spread his arms. “Hey, I only had your best interests at heart, bro. Gotta look after those pianist hands after all.”

Those pianist hands flexed a moment. And, yeah, damn his brother had big hands.

“What’s the penalty?”

“Oh, denial of the hidden rations.” Alan was snickering.

An eyebrow arched. “Survival on Grandma’s cooking. That’s cruel.”

Gordon held up a hand. “Hey, we could make this a positive experience. Winner gets to choose pizza flavours next time AND gets it delivered to the island.” The only way that was happening was if one of the other brothers flew out to get it.

Virgil’s eyes darted back and forth between them as if trying to work out the catch. “Loser delivers pizza?”

“Yep, in Tracy Two.”

Another musing moment. “Okay, give it here.” Virgil held out a hand. Gordon made a pecan nut appear.

His brother examined it.

“What, do you think it might be fake or something?”

Brown eyes looked up at him as if he had said something stupid. “Well, yeah, this is Gordon Tracy we’re talking about.”

“I’m offended.”

Alan smirked. “I’d be proud if I were you.”

Virgil shot a glare at the youngest, but quickly returned to examining the nut. “Looks like a nut.”

“It is a an honest to goodness, everyday pecan nut. Geesh.”

“Okay.” Virgil tossed it in the air a moment, catching it in one hand. “Let’s do this.”

Scanning the room, his eyes landed on their father’s desk. “Over here.”

Gordon’s eyes widened. “Really, you want to do it on Dad’s desk?”

“Sure, why not?” And Virgil was eyeing him again. “Unless there is something you’re not telling me.”

Gordon held up his hands. “Hey, honest to god, Virg. All above board.”

“Hmm.”

He took a seat at the desk an placed the nut down. Eyeing it a moment longer as if assessing tactics, he then flexed his shoulders, and his fist came down.

And the nut disappeared.

Through the top of the desk.

“Shit!” Apparently only Gordon had access to his voice.

There was now a perfectly nut shaped hole in the middle of their father’s desk.

“Oh.” Virgil found his voice. “Um.” He stuck a finger in the hole. It had only gone through one layer of thin wood, not the entire table top. “Shit is right.” The nut had disappeared inside a hollow beneath the surface.

Scott was going to kill them.

Virgil frowned. “You know, I could have sworn this was solid oak.” He poked the hole with his finger, bent down and looked into the footwell, yanked out a drawer, the engineer obviously attempting to examine it from all angles.

Gordon was too busy working out excuses and listening to see if Scott had come back from his run yet.

And then Virgil’s questing fingers hit something, and a secret panel slid out of the desk.

The nut rolled around in the tiny little hidden drawer amongst papers, on top of which sat an envelope with the words ‘Scott Tracy’ scrawled in their father’s distinctive hand.

“Shit.”

And this time Virgil said it with quiet awe.

-o-o-o-

 


	2. Knitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely random, but for @scribbles97 A little Christmas with a dash of Gordon/Penelope that just happened.

Gordon looked up. “What are you doing, Virgil?”

“I’m knitting a reindeer.”

His brother blinked and held up two fingers. “Two things….a reindeer….and you knit?”

Virgil frowned. “Of course, I knit. Mom taught me and I do it every year.”

“Knit reindeers?”

“No, knit. Are you blind? Who do you think knitted the jumper you’re wearing?”

Gordon stared down in vague horror at the palm trees knitted into his Christmas sweater. “You did this???”

“Years ago. Who did you think made it?”

“Grandma?”

Virgil glared at his brother. “Way to go to fall for the stereotype, Gordo. Just because she is a grandmother, doesn’t mean she knits, and just why do you think me knitting is so out of character?”

“Well, look at you. Big, buff and tough?”

Another glare. “So that precludes me from working with yarn, how?”

“Um…” And yes, that out-of-his-depth-oh-shit-Virgil-is-going-to-kill-me expression on Gordon’s face was quite satisfying.

“Exactly.” Virgil stitched a few more stitches. “You definitely need to up your observation skills. I have been doing this every Christmas since before Mom died.”

It had become a tradition. Partly to connect himself to his Mom, partly because he just enjoyed it. He only did it in the three months leading up to Christmas. Traditionally this was because in the northern hemisphere it was leading into winter and knitting was most definitely a winter sport. Here on the island, it was warm year round, so no matter when he did it, it would still be out of season. But he did it anyway.

Of course, due to that same warmth, there was little need for Christmas sweaters, so there were less of them, but recently he had ventured into knitting little animals. He had a stash of them on Thunderbird Two and deployed them at need should he be rescuing children, or even adults who needed that extra little security.

“How the hell am I supposed to know what you’re doing most of the time? I’m as busy as anyone here.”

Virgil stared at him. “Why are you wearing that sweater anyway? It is nearly ninety degrees outside.”

Gordon shrugged. “I was cold.”

He narrowed his eyes at his brother, assessing him. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

Virgil put down his needles and stood up, walking slowly across the comms room to where his brother was sitting. Gordon made to get up, but Virgil held up his hand. “Sit.” And yes, there was guilt in his little brother’s eyes.

He reached out to touch his forehead and, sure enough, Gordon was much hotter than the temperature outside.

“How long?”

“This morning?” And yes, he was shivering. “C’mon, Virg, it’s Christmas Eve. Pen’s going to be here.”

“I’m sure she would not want to come here to collect a disease.” He gently wrapped a hand around his brother’s arm. “C’mon, let’s go get you checked out.”

“Aww, Virg, please.” But he dragged himself up, obviously capitulating to the inevitable. “Damn, I was so looking forward to tonight.”

“There will be other nights, Gordon, I promise.” He led his brother from the room, slumped shoulders and all. By the time they made it to the infirmary, Gordon’s expression was pitiful.

Virgil sighed. “It is probably only a cold, rest up and it will get better in a few days.”

“And there goes Christmas.” He flopped on the bed dramatically, completely opposite to his usually sprite and happy self. “I had plans, Virg. There were going to be candles and presents and…aw, damnit.” And that was a serious pout.

“Lie down and let me take a look at you.”

The pout went horizontal.

“Would you like a reindeer?”

A pair of red-brown eyes glared at him.

Virgil smiled, walked over to the infirmary cupboard and dug out a little Rudolph. “Here you go. And if you behave, I’ll knit one up for Penelope as well.”

The frown on Gordon’s face was comical. “You suck.” But he took the reindeer anyway, rolled onto his side, still shivering, and hugged the little toy to him.

Virgil’s smile widened and he mentally added a little pink nosed reindeer to his list.

-o-o-o-


	3. Puppy Pile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for @ak47stylegirl who asked for a group hug. Well, I didn’t quite deliver a hug exactly….what I came up with, well, I hope you enjoy it anyway :D
> 
> Warning for a little toilet humour, and just a touch of Virgil/Kayo cos I couldn’t resist :D

“Who’s stupid idea was this anyway?”

“Whose is it usually?”

“Gordon’s!” Two, possibly three voices answered in unison, the third one cut off by a yelp.

“Hey! I wasn’t the one who lost the bet.”

“No, that was Scott’s fault. Ow, get off my fingers!”

“Sorry!”

She winced. That had to hurt, Virgil was heavy. “Guys, settle down.”

“I would, but Alan has his butt in my face.” There was a sudden loud drawn out putter. “Oh my god, you didn’t!”

Her lips twisted.

“Oh, you did! My god, Alan, in my face! You shit! You reek!” And Gordon was gagging.

She couldn’t help but notice the smirk on Scott’s face. In echo of years long gone, “Now, Alan, what do you say?”

Dutifully her littlest brother piped up, “Pardon me.”

“You are going down, bro. So down, you won’t see daylight for a week.”

“Can we get on with this please?” John was being extremely tolerant, particularly since he was currently standing with his legs crossed and one arm stretched across Virgil’s back. Somehow he managed to emanate poise no matter his pose. Likely all those gymnastics in zero gravity.

“I would but I don’t believe Scott is quite in position yet.”

Her eldest brother frowned. “What do you mean? This is right, isn’t it?”

“No, Scott, think a little more about Virgil.”

“What? Oh, really? But that’s...”

She arched an eyebrow and he groaned. “Alan move your head.”

“Sorry, Scott, no can do, currently attached to my neck, which is attached to my body, yada yada. You’re gonna have to go around.”

“How the hell am I going to reach that?”

“Work it out. You’re the one who got us into this mess.”

“Alan, we all agreed, we’re all to blame.” Trust Virgil to even the playing field.

“You’re only saying that because she’s your girlfriend.”

“That has nothing to with it.” But he did look up at her and smirk.

She grinned back.

“Okay, that’s it, I think Virgil rigged it.” Gordon somehow managed to glare upside down.

“I did no such thing.”

“Guys!” And yes, John was getting testy. Time to move on.

She spun the spinner and waited for it to stop. “Okay, left hand green.”

“You’re kidding?!” Scott.

“Definitely Virgil, never played so much green in my life. Alan, get off my foot!” Gordon.

“I would if Scott would stop trying to....hey! That’s not going to fit no matter how hard you try, big boy.”

Kayo blinked.

“Virgil, watch what you’re touching.”

“Yah, uh, sorry, John.”

She saw it coming, it was like a train wreck in slow motion. Virgil withdrew his arm and threw off his balance. He wobbled, attempted to save himself, but the rules of the game denied his instinct and he hesitated.

And toppled.

Taking all four of his brothers with him.

A puppy pile of Tracy limbs all over the floor, complete with squawks and grumblings to match. She couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing.

Gordon surfaced first, shoving far too many kilos of artistic brother off his legs. “Goddamnit, Virgil! You so rigged this. Tracy Twister, my ass. I’m putting glitter in your shampoo, I’m hanging your underwear from the flagpole and chucking your pillow in the pool.”

But Virgil didn’t seem to care. He was on his back laughing his head off.

His four brothers stared at him.

She bit her lip, counting it down.

Scott cracked up first, followed by Alan, John grinned like a maniac and finally Gordon, sitting cross legged on the floor, arms equally crossed over his chest, let his glare fold into a smile, then a smirk, and a giggling laugh.

Smiling, she looked over above her laughing brothers, toward the doorway. Grandma winked from the shadows.

And Kayo grinned even more.

It may have been rigged, but it was worth it.

-o-o-o-


	4. Embryonic Marks & Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m tired tonight and was dozing lightly on the couch. Eventually I had to get up to kiss the girls goodnight. As I sat up a single scene flashed into my head. I don’t know where it came from or what it means, but I wrote it down anyway. I hope you enjoy whatever it is.

He held his breath as long as he possibly could, but eventually he had to shoot for the surface, strong arms climbing up the water column, shoulders aching and lungs straining. Busting into the air, Virgil gulped in enough oxygen to stabilise his system, the chill of the surface breeze goosepimpling his arms.

He dipped and rose with the slight swell for a moment, bare legs kicking, the bright sunlight driving him to squint. There was water in his ears.

A few strong breaths and he dove once more. He was naked with the exception of his tight swim trunks, IR emblazoned on his hip, and he could feel it as he dove deeper, the cold of the ocean seeping into his bones.

He returned to Gordon, floating in the flickering turquoise sunlight. His brother lay drifting, all ten tentacles lax, his chromatophores flickering in the remains of distress, ink still drifting lazily in the distance.

Virgil reached out and gently touched his soft mantle. Under his fingers his brother’s skin activated, colour and pattern dancing in reaction to their connection. Cells flashed deep contrasts, spots merging to plains of saturation only to retreat to match the shape of Virgil’s hand.

As his hand moved, his print was left behind.

Gordon’s fine stabilising fins rippled in the sequence to move him just slightly, bringing his great eye to gaze upon the second Thunderbird. The glassy iris flickered with familiar amber.

Virgil hung there as long as he possibly could, but eventually he, again, had to climb to the surface leaving his brother behind.

Another desperate gasp of oxygen, his hair in his eyes.

The sun glared at him and he dove again.

And would keep doing so as long as he had to.

-o-o-o-


	5. Excerpt from Volcano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil was tired. IR was very busy and then he encountered this guy. Spoilers for season 2 and episode 'Volcano'.

The fact that no one came running from the building as he landed Thunderbird Two in their carpark was proof that the volcano had been preparing to erupt for some time. Obviously, the ground shaking and rumbling around here was nothing new. The fact that no one but a single scientist had noticed was the odd thing.

Virgil lowered himself through the hatch and strode out onto the icy ground. Walking through the front door, he frowned as his presence was still barely noticed. It was rare that International Rescue wasn’t pounced on the moment they made an appearance anywhere. Mostly for two reasons. The first being that there was usually an emergency in progress and most people at such a scene were in desperate need of saving anyway. The second reason was celebrity. They were the rich and famous whether they were Tracy brothers or IR operatives, they were powerful to know and known the world over.

Locating the desk, he approached reception only to find the attendant slumped in his chair snoring. Really? Even through landing TB2? His girl was anything but quiet. The ground shook when she made contact. He knew this because apparently TB1 jumped every time he parked beside her. Scott was good at smart assed remarks.

Not seeing anyone else who might want to assist him, Virgil picked up the bell and shook it gently.

The tinkling sound activated the concierge like a remote control. He startled out of sleep and without apology leapt into his spiel of “How may I assist you?”

“Hi, I’m from International Rescue.” He put the bell down and arched an eyebrow at the man as his expression grew skeptical.

“And I’m Jeff Tracy.”

The IR operative processed that, cleared his throat and pointed in the direction of his ‘bird, parked out front.

The man’s expression fell with a satisfying, “Oh my.”

Virgil straightened. “Your volcano, Mount Hromundartdinhurmindur,” and yes, he nearly broke his throat saying it, “is about to erupt. We need to evacuate your hotel.”

Surprise turned to derision almost immediately. “Have you been speaking to Doctor Questa? He is a madman. Has been attempting to scare us with his foretelling of doom for years.” The man waved a negligent hand in the air. “I would not worry.”

There was always one. Why did there always have to be one?

“Mr, uh, Tracy, is it? Doctor Questa’s conclusions have been verified.” As if to emphasize the point, the ground shook a little just for effect. “In under a half an hour, this hotel, if not razed to the ground by a lava flow, will at the very least be subject to ballistic projectiles and the possibility of pyroclastic flows. You need to evacuate now.”

“And who are you to declare such a thing?”

Virgil took a step closer and pinned the man with his eyes. “I am Virgil Tracy, the son of the man you so blatantly mocked.” Okay, there was some satisfaction in the sudden lack of blood in the man’s already pale face, but there was no time. He hit his comms, not taking his eyes off the concierge. “John, could you please give me access to this hotel’s communication system? Building wide broadcast.” He kept his expression calm, voice determined. At John’s affirmative, he addressed the hotel at large. “This is International Rescue. Please remain calm. This is an order to evacuate the building. Please exit in an orderly manner and gather at the designated meeting points. This is not a drill.”

John followed it up with a translation into the local dialect and activated the fire alarm.

Virgil still held the concierge with his eyes. The man’s expression was now stricken as all the hotel guests and staff, muttering, made their way to the exit doors. Several fire wardens approached the desk, eyed the two men and immediately turned to Virgil and his uniform.

With no parting expression at all, Virgil turned away and addressed the head warden, explaining the pending eruption and the need to evacuate. Fortunately the woman was smarter than her co-worker and with wide eyes moved immediately.

“I need numbers on how many people we have to move.”

Numbers were handed to him. Damn, at least two trips to the nearest town. Fortunately the hotel was the only establishment in the blast radius.

Addressing the remaining wardens and the concierge, “Thunderbird Two will take half the evacuees at a time. We will move as fast as possible. Please make sure all are accounted for. I will meet you and the first group out the front.” Turning away, he strode back towards the doors, accessing his remote, enabling TB2 to lower her now empty module in preparation to board evacuees. A signal from John confirmed his destination and facilities for the displaced people.

A single glance at the concierge as he left the building.

Asshole.

-o-o-o-


	6. Sound came first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @scribbles97 said I should write something to do with a beach. My broken writing muscles came up with this.
> 
> Maybe I shouldn’t write at all.

Sound came first.

Water. Waves.

Seabirds.

Crackling.

Wind. There was a little wind. It was tangling in his hair.

There was sand on his face. Grit in his mouth.

Pain in his head.

He was lying on his stomach, material between him and the cold sand. Something was digging into his side.

Opening his eyes, he had to blink grains off his eyelashes.

Sand was everywhere.

He spat it out of his mouth and his head spun.

A groan.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced them open, forced his brain to start working.

Something was burning. The smell of smoke registered and his body reacted, his head coming up, attempting to work out where he was and what the hell had happened.

Pain.

A gloved hand reached for his head. “Augh.”

“Virgil!”

Wha-?

“VIRGIL, are you there?”

Rolling over, his eyes were blinded by the sun and his gut twisted in pain. Aah!

Smoke drifted past.

What?

“VIRGIL, FOR GOD’S SAKE, ANSWER ME!!”

A blink. Scott?

He cleared his throat. Comms. Answer comms. A finger in the right place and pain shot up his side. What the hell? He tried to say his brother’s name, but it came out as a gasp.

“Virgil? You there?”

“S-Scott.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Scott?” Scott. Scott. Scott. Scott.

Scott had answers.

“Status?”

Status? “D-don’t know.” He tried to sit up and regretted it immediately. He cried out and tried to roll into a ball, but movement, any movement....his thoughts were reduced to a whimper.

“Virgil! Lie still. I’m coming. You’re injured.”

Injured?

In the distance he could just hear the roar of Thunderbird One’s engines. Relief let his body fall slack back against the sand. Scott. Scott would save him.

Something was burning. More smoke drifted across the blue, blue sky.

He turned his head to the left and beyond the sand and piles of dried seaweed, a giant mass of green metal was burning.

Oh god, no.

He couldn’t see all of her, but as TB1 roared into the sky above, Virgil couldn’t help but stare at the remains of his beautiful bird, half buried in the beach beside him. Waves crashed against her hull.

Something exploded and a plume of smoke tore into the sky.

No.

God, no.

No!

The ground rumbled and his body cried out at even that small movement.

No.

“Virgil? You with me?”

No.

“Virgil?”

No.

And then Scott was there.

Scott was there.

And he could let go.

-o-o-o-

 

 


	7. Just a Little Action Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m blaming the fact that I just watched ‘Into the Spiderverse’ for the first time.

The child was wriggling and god he wished he would hold still.

The metal beneath Scott’s feet vibrated as another explosion ripped through the chemical plant behind him. He had no doubt it wouldn’t be long before the massive canister he was standing on became an equally massive explosion.

“Scott, are you planning on moving your ass anytime soon? I have only so much foam available in Two’s tanks and they are getting low. Get out, the whole place is going to blow.”

His brother had missed coffee o’clock this morning and was appropriately moody. “Doing my best, Virgil.” If this kid hadn’t climbed all the way up here, it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Do better! I don’t want a promotion.”

The kid was wriggling again as Scott hauled him towards the edge. “Hey, calm down, we are getting out of here.”

Doing his best to hold the boy still, he peered over the edge. No way down, and there was no way he wanted to go back inside this thing. Thunderbird One was on the far side of the complex. The metal beneath his feet rumbled. Time was running out.

A row of antiquated smoke stacks stood like soldiers along the edge of the plant. They would have to do. Mentally calculating his trajectory, he aimed his grapple gun and fired.

Just as the canister shuddered beneath him and began to swell.

“Scott! Get out of there!”

The gun registered a secure grip and, clutching the boy, he jumped.

And the world exploded.

He couldn’t help himself, he yelled, the boy in his arms screaming along with him. They pendulumed into a low arc, but the explosion behind them pushed them back up into the air only to slow reaching the maximum height of their swing.

As they rose, Scott was confronted with the fact that if he didn’t disengage the grapple, they were going to swing back into the explosion.

Time slowed.

A click of a button disengaged the grapple. For a moment they floated in the air.

The boy was still screaming, his arms wrapped around Scott’s neck in terror. Reaching around him, Scott grabbed a new grapple pack, slapped it into the gun just as they started to fall.

Aim.

Fire.

Hang on for dear life.

And they were swinging again.

Wind rushed past his helmet and once again, they were rising.

“Scott, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Need a little help…” And they were approaching maximum height again.

He disengaged the grapple, the line dropping loose behind them.

Another pack.

Another aim.

The last of the stacks. “Virgil, I need you!”

The grapple thunked solid and their swing began again. “Virgil!”

The roar of VTOL and Thunderbird Two shot past. For a moment he was faced with the prospect of colliding physically with his brother’s ‘bird, but she drifted off, just far enough.

They reached the full height of their swing and there were no more stacks.

But there was a Thunderbird.

Last grapple pack slapped in.

Aiming at the side of a big green barn.

The blessed thunk of a secured grapple and they were swinging again, but this time their fulcrum moved with them, taking their momentum and slowing them down.

Ever so carefully his brother’s ‘bird killed their velocity and, ever so carefully, lowered them to the ground.

The grit of gravel beneath his boots was the most wonderful sound. The boy in his arms wrestled free and scuttled away from him, obviously terrified the rescue operative would make him do that again.

Scott disengaged the grapple and threw the gun to the ground. As the chemical plant behind him continued its self destruction, the Commander of International Rescue took a moment to sit his butt in the dirt and try to get his heartbeat back under control.

That had been one hell of a ride.

“Scott, you okay?” Thunderbird Two was making a hasty landing not too far away and no doubt a worried brother would be jumping ship shortly.

“I’m okay, Virg.”

“That was one hell of a move.”

“No kidding.” He drew in a breath. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime.” TB2’s VTOL cut out and folded beneath her fuselage giving the explosions behind him aural dominance. “Though next time, drop the Spiderman audition, I’m not sure my blood pressure is up to it.”

Scott sighed as the kid continued to back away bit by bit. “No promises, bro. No promises.”

-o-o-o-

 


	8. Nutty wrote wee!Tracys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did and I’m blaming @godsliltippy for waving a challenge in front of my eyes, however inadvertently. Also apparently the challenge sparked in a discussion between @godsliltippy and MadameWinter who needs to share the blame as well.
> 
> The challenge involved wee!Tracys and fluff and pretty much the plotline I’ve written, so read it to find out :D
> 
> I’m a parent, but I’m not a kiddy person, so I apologise if this comes out with adult voices. I usually write the boys all grown up and I likes them that way :D

Virgil sat back and let his brother dig the hole. It was a very particular hole apparently. Had to be a specific size and shape.

It also appeared to involve full body immersion in the soil. Alan was covered head to toe in dirt. Dad was going to be so happy, not. Perhaps he could get his little brother under the hose before Dad got home.

Scott was inside studying, John reading as usual, and Gordon harassing Grandma. Virgil had taken Alan outside to separate the terrible twosome and give the house some peace. If he had to admit it, he felt like spending some time with the little four year old.

And it was a lovely day.

A blink and he realised Alan had wandered across the garden while he was thinking. He was staring at something in his hand. “Allie?”

“Virgie, what’s this?”

His brother turned around holding a mangled foil wrapped object in his palm. Virgil climbed to his feet and wandered over, frowning.

The dots in his head didn’t take long to connect.

Reaching out he took the little object from his brother’s hand. “It’s an Easter egg.”

“But it’s not Easter.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What’s it doin’ in the garden?”

“Um...the Easter bunny must have left it last time and we didn’t find it.”

“But the Easter bunny didn’t come this year. Remember.”

No, he hadn’t. Easter had passed by unacknowledged.

“He came before.”

“He did? Why not this year?”

How to explain to a four-year-old why the Easter bunny had stopped coming? Virgil had been eight when he discovered the truth behind the Easter bunny, sneaking out early one morning only to find his mother stashing eggs all over the garden. He had been both devastated and relieved. Devastated at losing the magic, relieved there wasn’t really a giant mutant rabbit running around hiding eggs in random places...even if they were chocolate.

When his mother died, so did the Easter bunny.

He rolled the decayed piece of foil wrapped chocolate in his hand. The last person to touch it before Alan had been his mother.

Inexplicably it blurred in front of him.

“Virgie?”

“Uh, sorry Allie. Would you like the Easter bunny to hide eggs for you next year?”

“Could he?”

“I’m sure we can contact him and ask.”

“I’ll go get my pencils!”

As his brother ran off, he stared at the old egg again. Mom was gone. The thought hurt. But if he had to sacrifice a sleep-in next year to give his little brother the experience of the Easter bunny. He would. Heh, Gordon would love it, too. Despite himself he smiled. They all would love it.

Grabbing the shovel his little bro had been using to dig that no longer important hole, he dug a little one in another corner of the garden. Placing the old egg gently down, he buried it in soil, ever to be part of the garden.

Mom, would always be here. He would make sure of it.

-o-o-o-


	9. Who did it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode tag for 3.14...kinda. A possible scene from their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A post-episode ficlet for 3.14. Only contains possible spoilers, none direct, but warning here just in case. Just a possible scene from their past. Angst alert.

It was the sound of crying that struck her first.

Walking into the room she was horrified to find her biggest brother hunched over on the lounge, head in his hands. Virgil sat beside him, murmuring unheard words to the back of his head.

That head shook in denial, the usually smooth hair mussed from the fingers that clenched it.

John sat alone on the couch beside, his expression lost and pale. He was almost bleached, his hair and eyes standing out in blatant contrast.

Her gut coiled up and strangled itself.

“Daughter.”

Her father was walking towards her, stance, as always, calm and considered, but the hand that reached for her as he approached was shaking.

That was more telling than anything.

“What happened?”

Her father blinked ever so slowly as if battling for control. “Tanusha, we have had some grave news.”

Behind her, a laughing ruckus heralded the entrance of the two youngest Tracy boys. She turned around to find Gordon literally poking his brother in the side with a finger. “Gotcha! Told ya I wouldn’t miss.”

“You suck!”

“I rule!”

“Gordon.” It was said quietly by Virgil but it brought the second youngest to a screeching halt. Tanusha watched as he took in the tableau. “What the hell?”

“Language.” Virgil again, but it was half hearted and he turned back to Scott who had not acknowledged anyone.

“What’s going on?” Alan’s voice was small, which was no surprise as he was the smallest in the room.

“There has been an accident.” Her father’s voice was still calm, but Tanusha could feel the tension beneath and it terrified her.

Alan’s eyes darted around the room and he said one word. “Dad?”

Scott looked up and never in her short life had she seen a man so devastated. His eyes were red rimmed, his skin blotchy, but it was his horrified stare that told her everything.

“No.”

It came from Alan and the boy took a step back. Scott shot to his feet, Virgil hovering beside him. “I’m sorry, Alan.” Scott’s voice was hoarse and it broke on his little brother’s name.

“What happened?” Gordon was beginning to share John’s pallor.

“There was an explosion, your father is missing.” Her father’s hand found hers and she clung to it.

“No. Not Dad, too.” Alan took another step backwards. “No, that’s not fair. No, not right.”

Scott clambered out of the circular lounge and hurried over to his little brother. A knee hit the hardwood floor as he grabbed his brother’s arms and brought himself down to Alan’s height. “We’ll find him, Allie. We will.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes, the younger desperate, the older pain-filled, but equally wanting to reassure that what was happening wasn’t permanent.

Virgil was wrapping his arms around Gordon.

Alan burst into tears. John folded on the lounge, his head falling into his hands. Gordon had his face buried in Virgil’s shirt. He made no sound. Virgil was murmuring again, his hand this time on Gordon’s back.

Her father squeezed her fingers and Tanusha felt everything, but showed nothing.

Where was Grandma?

In the distance, the familiar sound of ocean waves and seabirds. A warm breeze teased through the open glass doors.

Mr Tracy was gone.

The man she looked up to as a second father, the founder of Tracy Industries and International Rescue, the man who made her Mickey Mouse pancakes when she was feeling down.

Gone.

She looked up at her father and found tears in his eyes.

But something else was there something more than grief. She frowned at him and a horrible suspicion grew in her heart.

Lips thin. “Who did it?”

-o-o-o-


	10. Big Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandomversary Fic One - John and Gravity for @redhoodoutlaw91939

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr 17 Jul 2019  
> Nutty’s Fandomversary  
> Today is my Thunderbirds fandomversary :D Today one year ago, I posted my first fic in this fandom - No-one is losing their day today.  
> To celebrate a wonderful year of TB ficcy goodness and the great time I’ve had here I’m going to offer ficlets.  
> One of my favourite types of challenges is one word challenges. So, if you would like a ficlet - In the comments, post a single word and a character (yes, I’ll go beyond Virgil, it will be hard, but I will ::grin:: ).  
> They won’t be long (yeah, right, like I have control over anything), but hopefully I can thank all of you with a little bit of fic.  
> Have at it and challenge me!  
> Happy Fandomversary!!!  
> Nutty  
> (Thank you so much wonderful fandom peeps for all the fun and kindness and welcome I have received here. It means more and has affected me more than you will ever know ::mad group hug::)

“What the hell were you thinking?”

The voice was angry and upset, but it came from so far away, he could hardly hear it.

“You should have just let me fall. It was my own stupid fault.” There was a muffled grunt or growl, he wasn’t sure which, but it broadcast so much despair, it curdled his gut.

Falling? Yes, there was someone falling. Who?

A long drawn out exhausted sigh echoed through his mind. “Please wake up. I really don’t know...I can’t...John, please just wake up.”

Wake up? He could do that, couldn’t he?

Everything was grey and heavy except for that voice. That voice belonged to someone he knew. Someone important.

Another sound. A creak. A door? His mind tried to assemble the connections, the memories that made things what they were. Yes, a door.

Another voice, very soft. “Virg?”

The first voice cleared its throat. “Um, just checking on John before bed.”

A sigh again, but this time from a lighter voice. “It’s four am, Virgil. Have you been here all night?”

There was no answer to that.

“It wasn’t your fault. Just shitty luck. John will recover...we have to believe that.”

Another grunt. Something nudged him. There was touch.

Touch. He could feel.

The grey shifted around him and he drew in a breath.

“You need to go to bed. You’re not doing yourself or him any good doing this.”

“I-“

“Virgil!”

It shook him. The worried anger in that voice, a voice that had been authority for so long.

“What?! What do you want, Scott?! For everything to just keep going like it always has, despite the loss of one of our own?! Can you keep doing this knowing he is lying here and may never wake up? I can’t, okay. I-I have to stop. Just stop! Please, Scott, just let it stop!”

There were tears in that voice. John wanted to reach out and comfort, reassure, be there for...who?

“God, Virg, come here.” Words were muffled and sad. “You’re tired and you’re not thinking straight.

“Sc-“

“You’re going to bed, now.” Yet another sigh. “He is going to be all right. The doctors said he just needs a little more time.”

“Then why hasn’t he woken up?! For god’s sake, why did he have to be the one. If it was anyone else-“

“He will recover, Virgil. You need sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Not while he’s here.”

“Virgil-“

“He has to wake up, Scott. Or I’ll never forgive myself.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I fell on him! Do you know what that feels like? What it sounds like to hear a bone snap under your own weight. To hear a skull crack against concrete.”

“In fact, I do Virgil. I fell on you last year. Remember the concussion from hell at Easter and all the chocolate that Gordon paraded past you until you actually puked on him?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I don’t spend most of my life in orbit and my bone density is just a little less fragile.”

“John is going to be fine. You’re exhausted. When did you last sleep?” Silence. “Have you slept since the accident?”

More silence.

“For goodness sake, Virgil! You are still recovering yourself! Give your body half the chance.”

“I’m fine.”

“John looks better than you do!”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Then you’re not fine.”

“I just want him to wake up.”

John pondered that for a moment as only the sound of harsh breathing echoed through the grey. He was being touched again. Spritely little nerve endings firing away happily as they connected with another life force.

“Please wake up.”

Well, he really should do something to stop all the shouting.

“It is kinda hard to sleep with you two yelling at each other.”

“JOHN!”

“Ah! Do you mind? Injured oper’tive here.” Eyes, c’mon eyes, sick of the grey...

A shove and his eyelids cracked and let the room in.

Two brothers.

Two worried brothers.

Both looked rather horrible.

“Y’look horrible.”

A slow blink punctuated by twin snorts.

“How do you feel?” Scott...that was Scott.

“Like I need sleep. G’way.” Force the eyes open again. He stared at his brothers...no, one brother, the dark haired one, augh, where was the information precision he was used to? Virgil! His brother, Virgil. The heavy one. “Y’re heavy.”

“I’m sorry.” It was a desolate sound.

“N’t your fault.” Again with the blink. God, it was slow. “Gravity. Gravity sucks. Without gr’vity you’d only be mass and ev’n your big ass mass flo’ts. Lots. No falling. Only floating. And floating is fun.” He grinned. Yes, that’s what he did. But more important things. “Go sleep. I need sleep. You need sleep. Big ass needs sleep. Y’look like horrible.”

His hand was squeezed and Virgil smiled at him. He was kinda blurry, teary looking. “Go bed, big ass.”

“Oh god.”

“C’mon, Virg, better do what he says.”

He missed his brother’s response as his eye lids drooped again. Maybe he was on some medication.

“You know if Gordon finds out..”

“Shut up, Scott.”

Something touched his leg. “Sleep, Johnny.”

“G’way and I will. Don’t call me Johnny.”

“We’re going.”

But John’s eyes were closed and refused to open anymore. Somewhere a door creaked and then there was blessed silence.

-o-o-o-


	11. Virgil, You Smell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to work today and some lovely peeps sent me some interesting ideas to daydream to while working. Ironically, it turned out to be quite a busy day, but i still got some time to ponder those ideas and even started writing one down at lunch which I have now finished. so as thanks for sending me such wonderful ideas….here be a little fic :D This was sprouted by the first idea sent by @vegetacide.

 

“Virgil, you smell.”

“Excuse me?” Pre-flight checks were running through his head, he did not have time for Gordon’s babble at the moment. It had been a nasty situation, it was well into the hour of the wolf, he just wanted to go home.

“You stink.”

“And you are as subtle as always. There was mud, there was swamp, I will be cleaning muck off Two for the next week. Your point?”

The aquanaut threw himself into the co-pilot’s seat muttering to himself. A click and he was secured. Virgil did the last of pre-flight and checked in with Bangladesh Air Control to get clearance.

Gordon wrinkled his nose. “Not swamp, too flavoursome.”

“The hell, Gordon?” He was so tired.

“Hey, I’m just reporting the facts here, Virg. You or something reeks in here.”

“It was a swamp, Gordon. ‘Reek’ comes with the territory.”

“And I said, it was too flavoursome.” The image that accompanied that statement was enough to roil his stomach. Fortunately, Air Control confirmed their ascent path and Virgil was able to begin the launch sequence. VTOL fired and within moments they were airborne. As soon as they were high enough, Virgil kicked in the rear thrusters and the ship threw herself forward, as eager to go home as her pilot.

As her flight stabilised, Virgil let himself slowly sink into his chair. God he was tired. Monsoon season was always a challenge. Flooding, mudslides and the storms themselves often ran them ragged and today was no exception.

“What the hell is that smell? You sure you’re not passing Grandma’s curry?”

“What?! I didn’t eat any of Grandma’s curry.”

“Oh, so that’s why Scott was looking so peeved. Got out of it did you?”

“Nice to know you noticed I was missing.”

“Nah, not a guilt trip, man. Our schedule is shit, you could have been anywhere.”

“Yet you didn’t ask.”

“Obviously didn’t need to.” Gordon slumped in his seat. “If it isn’t the curry, then what is it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Gordon. Swamp is swamp. Maybe you’re smelling your own butt. Apparently you had Grandma’s curry last night.”

“Are you kidding me? I sacrificed your pet bromeliad.”

“You did what?!”

“Hey, you’re the one who stuck the pot outside the kitchen door. Obvious target.”

“It’s an epiphyte, Gordon, it doesn’t have any soil. What the hell did you do with the curry?”

His brother blinked. “Oh, well that explains that.”

“What?”

“Why Grandma was yelling at Alan for this morning. She had the mop out and everything.”

“Gordon!”

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” His brother sat up straighter in his seat completely dismissing the topic. “We still don’t know what that damn smell is. What the hell is it? Sure it’s not you?”

Virgil just stared at his brother. Sure, they got sweaty and dirty and were far too familiar with each other’s ‘scents’, but come on. “Swamp, Gordon, swamp.”

Gordon climbed out of his seat. “Too juicy for swamp, Virg, how many times do I have to say it?” He wandered towards the back of the cockpit. “Hmm, definitely less of it over here.”

His brother then proceeded to sniff like some kind of half aquatic bloodhound around the cabin. Virgil still had no idea what he was babbling on about, but then his nose had been stuffy all day. Knowing his luck he had probably caught some tropical fever in that blasted swamp.

Speaking of which, a tissue wouldn’t hurt. Flipping on auto pilot, he pushed back in his seat and creaked to his feet. Damn it had been a long day. He frowned, then sighed. Two days if he counted the hours. Two days of sweltering heat, bugs and mud.

Reaching the overhead locker where he stashed all the personal items that might be needed in flight, he unlatched it and opened it.

“Oh my god!” Even through stuffed nasal passages, the reek watered his brain. “What the hell is that?”

“Shit.” Gordon had fingers squeezing his nose. “I think you located the source.”

“No kidding.”

“Gordon?”

“What?”

“Why is there a baguette in the supply locker?

“A baguette?” His brother looked completely mystified for a moment, but then a light bulb flicked on in his eyes. “Oh, um, yeah, about that.”

“It’s green.”

“Yeah.”

“And furry.”

“Yeah.”

“And it stinks.”

“That it does.” Gordon’s head tilted a little. “Might have something to do with the ham and relish and probably the mayo.”

“What is it doing on my ship?” It had been a very, very long day.

“Food supplies?”

“We have a refrigeration unit for that.”

“Yeah, well, that was too far away at the time.”

Virgil stared at his brother. “Even you are not that lazy.”

“Well, I was distracted.”

Virgil’s frown was going to cleave his face in half. “When?” He stared at the mouldy baguette and realised there was something shoved behind it. Reaching up and avoiding the fur as much as possible, he grabbed the hidden object.

And pulled out a wine glass.

He stared at it. “Gordon?!”

“Uh, I can explain.”

“Were you on my ship with Penelope?”

“Uh…”

“Oh god.”

“Well, she was such a good co-pilot and I was sick last time…” Yes, his brother was backing away.

Virgil felt like breaking something.

The stem of the glass snapped in his hand.

Gordon’s eyes widened and a wrinkle of worry twisted his eyebrows. “Uh, c’mon, Virg, you know how it is on the Island. Hard to find a little privacy and she did show such interest in your ‘bird. You were asleep after that mission in Paris and it just seemed right.” He managed a weak smile. “I didn’t think you’d mind.” And there were the puppy dog eyes of his little brother. Now in a body all grown up and definitely dating a very special woman, but still a puppy. Still the same eyes that had Virgil covering for him when he got himself into strife as a kid.

Damn it.

Virgil turned away and walked back towards his pilot chair. “Just clean it up.” Clipped and hard, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. Reaching his seat, he stared at it a moment. “Gordon, what exactly did you do in my cockpit?”

God, please, not in his pilot’s seat.

“Um, lunch?”

Virgil groaned. “Considering lunch is now a very smelly science experiment, I’m finding that very hard to believe.” A sigh. “You know what? I don’t want to know.” His hands shot out in dismissal. “In fact, I wish I didn’t know any of it. Would be better for my mental health.” If he raked a hand through his hair, he could blame the mess on the swamp rescue. He sat in his seat and refused to think about it. Killing the autopilot, he began the approach for home and his beloved bed.

The miscreant was grinning at him. “Well, Virg, you know the devil’s in the details-“

“Shut up, Gordon, or I’ll help you eat your ‘lunch’.” A thought. “Also, I suspect Scott will be very interested in those details and how they apply to conduct aboard an IR vessel.”

The grin vanished and the puppy eyes widened. “Virg-“

As Thunderbird Two banked into land, Virgil smiled just a little. Oh, the blackmail material he now had at hand.

That he knew he would never use.

A sigh.

“Just clean up the mess and never speak of it again.”

There were some things he just didn’t want to know.

-o-o-o-


	12. I'm Fine

“Scott!”

His brother’s name was torn from his lips as his blue-suited figure plummeted past him in the rain.

Virgil dropped his line from the dilapidated building and threw himself at his brother, exo-suit flailing in the wind.

Rain blurred his heads-up display.

John yelled in his ear.

Red digits counted down the distance to the ground.

His arm came up, the inbuilt grapple gun initialised.

His claw reached.

Teeth on uniform.

The gun fired.

He twisted in mid-air drawing his brother above him, giving him the distance to take the sudden stop.

His line sung taut and the world came to a godawful halt.

A moment of disorientation.

“Virgil?”

Huh?

“You can put me down now.” Scott.

Rain dribbled down his helmet in rivulets.

He blinked, those red digits blurry.

“Virgil?” John. “You with us, bro?”

The red digits sharpened. Zero point one metres.

The wind rose a moment, buffeting him.

Metal scraped on concrete.

He was hanging ten centimetres off the ground, Scott held aloft in one claw.

Shit!

He gently put his brother down. “Scott?!”

“I’m okay. Spectacular bruising, but okay.” His brother struggled to his feet, groaning.

Virgil stared at him a moment, his heart catching up with his brain. He swallowed. Oh god.

“Virg, you good?”

“Fine.” So, his voice was up an octave from normal.

Shit.

He unhooked himself from his line and let himself fall those last ten centimetres.

“Totally fine.”

-o-o-o-


	13. The Thunder

They say that when you are dying, there is a bright light. Like the light at the end of a tunnel. Bright and all consuming.

What they don’t mention is the thunder.

The roar that vibrates your bones, grinds your teeth and shakes the ground.

The dust gets in your eyes and you blink madly, desperate to clear the tears, to see that light, to know everything will be okay, despite the blood, despite the pain.

You fight and call out and beg for an answer.

And suddenly there it is.

There’s a hand.

There’s a man.

A chance.

To survive.

He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t care. He only knows that you need saving, you need help. That is his reason.

His only reason.

His face blurs amongst the tears, but he is talking to you.

Softly.

Kindly.

The whole world is shaking, but that flash of honest eyes holds you in the moment, dares you that chance that you might, just might…

See tomorrow.

And with that, you are wrapped up in his world, caught by his safety, cocooned in his reassurance and his thunder…

It roars, screams at the sky, breaking the blue with orange-white fire. The vibration in your bones sings, a chorus of pain and relief and an all consuming gratitude.

And you know.

You are saved.

You are rescued.

By the light.

By the thunder.

And the man in blue.

-o-o-o-


End file.
